


Things Baby Steven Hates (an annotated list)

by roboticonography



Series: Baby Steven [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Bliss, F/M, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26115196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roboticonography/pseuds/roboticonography
Summary: A collection of ficlets about Steven, the Worst Baby Ever, set in the same universe as Love Set You Going.
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Series: Baby Steven [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896235
Comments: 19
Kudos: 138





	1. the new guy

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr's search is fairly useless at this point, so I've decided to collect all of my Baby Steven ficlets in one spot.
> 
> If you haven’t read Love Set You Going, you may want to check that out first.

The weekend that Steve moved in, Steven cried incessantly.

Peggy had been so thrilled at the prospect of having Steve there, with her, that she hadn’t fully considered how challenging it would be. It wasn’t that Steve had a lot of things—or any things, really—but it wasn’t a large apartment. There had been just enough room for Peggy and the baby, and barely that; with a third person in the mix, everything suddenly seemed close and awkward. They hadn’t even figured out where everyone was going to sleep—Steven hated the bassinet, and there wasn’t room for a crib.

Peggy hadn’t had time to find anything to make for supper, the apartment was stifling, and Steve had cracked the kitchen window trying to pull it open.

And Steven would not. Stop. Crying.

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Steve. He was in his shirtsleeves, trying to stabilize the crack with tape so that they’d be able to open the window properly.

Defensively, Peggy snapped, “There’s nothing _wrong_ with him. He’s a child. Children cry.” She paced the length of the apartment, bouncing Steven in her arms. “There, there. Shall we have a lie down, my love?”

“Well, I’m not really—oh. You meant the baby.”

“If I want to talk to you, Steve, I’ll use your name.”

Steve made a helpless gesture. “We both—he’s got the same…”

Peggy closed the bedroom door without replying.

In bed, Steven still wouldn’t settle, squirming and pushing at her face. She tried to feed him, but after a few swallows, he would pull away, howling. It wasn’t his normal sort of boisterous yelling, but a sad, angry whimper.

There was a soft knock at the door. Peggy sat up, pulling her shirt closed, and said, “Come in.”

Steve entered, carrying the hot water bottle from under the sink.

“Are you all right?” asked Peggy, concerned. She knew he was still recovering from his time in the ice, but he hadn’t complained of anything other than an occasional tiredness.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He sat on Steven’s side of the bed. “I noticed he was pulling on his ear earlier. I wonder if maybe it’s a little blocked up. Does he get a lot of colds?”

“He just had one.” Steven’s left ear was red and hot to the touch—Peggy had thought it was because he’d been lying on his side.

Steve wrapped the hot water bottle in a clean dish towel and laid it against the side of Steven’s face. Steven looked startled.

“My mother used to do this for me when I had an earache,” Steve explained.

After a moment, the baby’s pinched face relaxed, and he cuddled against Peggy’s side.

“Try to keep him lying on that side. His ear won’t hurt as much.”

Peggy stroked the tuft of dark hair on the top of Steven’s head. “Your mother must have been a strong woman.”

“To put up with me, you mean?” Steve inquired.

“Yes,” said Peggy dryly, “there is that.”

Steve leaned down and kissed her forehead softly. Then he did the same to Steven, who was already dozing off.

Peggy touched his cheek and said, “Lie down with us, darling.”

“That’s me, right?”

She yanked on his lapel to pull him down. “Yes, idiot,” she said fondly, “That’s you.”


	2. bedtime

“Come on, buddy,” said Steve, a bit hopelessly.

For the third time that night, he lifted Steven out of his crib. The boy cuddled against Steve’s shoulder, shaking and sniffling, his flushed cheek pressed to Steve’s neck.

“Okay, okay,” Steve murmured, rubbing Steven’s back gently.

The usual checks yielded nothing: Steven had a dry diaper, he’d been fed, he didn’t seem to have a chill, a fever, a stomach ache, or a toothache. And even though sleeping in the crib (instead of in Peggy’s bed) was a new development, Steven had eventually accepted it.

 _Of course_ the first time Peggy was away overnight on SHIELD business would also be the first night that Steven started having unexplained crying jags.

Steve wondered at times if he’d ever be as natural a parent as Peggy was. She seemed to know all the right things to say and do, while he fumbled over changing a diaper or warming a bottle. She kept assuring him that she’d had the same challenges, that it would take time to learn, but it had been slow going. And he’d missed so many milestones already—Steven’s first smile, his first laugh, his first tooth, the first time he’d crawled…

“I know, I miss her too. But she’s coming back tomorrow,” said Steve, feeling slightly ludicrous. He knew his son couldn’t really understand him, but he thought it was worth a try just the same.

Steven peered at him. He was already part-way back to sleep, his dark eyes drifting closed.

“I promise,” added Steve. “She’ll be here. But for now, kiddo, I’m it.”

Steven gave an enormous yawn and snuggled into Steve’s chest.

Steve rocked him for a moment, then settled him in the crib again, tucking the blanket around him and arranging the stuffed toys just so. 

An hour later, Steve found him standing up in the crib again, clinging to the rails, red-faced and bawling.

Which was when it hit him: Steven was _standing_. On his own. He must have pulled himself up by the railing, Steve realized.

“You can get up, but you can’t get down again. Is that it?” Steve scooped Steven up and set him down on his backside in the crib.

The sobs instantly subsided. Steven gazed up at him, bringing his little thumb up to his mouth.

“That’s a neat trick, pal.” He ruffled the boy’s hair, then leaned into the crib to kiss the top of his head. “We’ll have to show mom when she gets home.”


	3. privacy

“He’s asleep.”

“You think so?” Steve watched the bassinet. “I think he’s just waiting.”

Peggy raised up on one elbow to peek over Steve’s shoulder; she pressed herself lightly against his back, which was when he noticed that she’d stealthily slipped out of her nightgown. “Your son is fast asleep and dreaming,” she murmured, nipping at his shoulder playfully. “Now you need to pay your wife some attention.” She bit his ear, which happened to be a particular weakness of Steve’s—enough to focus his attention on the task at hand.

Things were proceeding in a very promising direction when there was a soft little chirp from the bassinet, audible only to Steve’s enhanced hearing. Peggy gave a wordless cry of indignation as he lifted his head to find the source of the sound.

Sure enough, Steven was sitting up, thumb in his mouth, glaring. He met Steve’s eye and immediately started to wail.

“Every time,” said Steve, resigned.

Peggy felt around for her nightgown, shimmying into it in a sort of reverse strip-tease before turning on the light. “I’ve spoilt him, letting him sleep in the bed as much as I do.”

“I don’t think it’s that,” said Steve, pulling on his shorts under the covers. “I think he just doesn’t like to share.”

Peggy gave Steven a quick diaper inspection, kissed him on each cheek, then sat him on the bed. He immediately stopped crying, and scooted himself into the valley between their two pillows in what was, to Steve, a fairly obvious power play.

“When we buy a house,” said Steve, rolling onto his side, “you’re getting your own room, pal.”


	4. the word "dad"

Perhaps predictably, Steven’s first word was _no_.

He said it to Steve, who was in the midst of changing his diaper at the time, and punctuated it by urinating all over Steve, the changing table, the carpet, and the newly-hung nursery wallpaper.

Other words gradually followed: _mama_ , _ball_ , _juice_ , _stop_ , _down_. _No_ remained a heavy favourite.

*

One evening, as Steve was getting him ready for bed, he very distinctly said, “Steeb.”

“Daddy,” Steve corrected, expertly folding and pinning the diaper before Steven had a chance to douse him.

“Steeb,” said the boy again, holding out his arms.

Steve picked him up. “Keep trying, buddy. You’ll get it.”

*

“He knows you. Don’t you, my clever darling?” Peggy cooed, bouncing Steven on her knee. “You know your daddy.”

Steven burbled a string of happy baby nonsense, then said, “Mama.”

“That’s right. Mama,” Peggy pointed to herself, “and Daddy.” She placed a hand on Steve’s chest.

“Mama,” Steven repeated. Then, looking directly at his father, he said, “Steeb.”

“He’s stubborn,” said Steve.

“Like his father,” Peggy replied.


	5. the letter "b"

Bucky gaped as Peggy entered the room with the toddler, setting him down on Steve’s lap.

“Say hello, Steven,” she prompted.

Steven sucked his thumb and stared right back at Bucky, unblinking.

“Uh, Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“What the fuck is that?”

Steve frowned. “What do you mean, what’s that? That’s my kid.” He ruffled the boy’s dark hair. “Excuse the fuck out of you.”

“When did you find time to have a kid?”

Peggy politely refrained from pointing out that the majority of the effort had been hers alone. “He’s nearly two,” she said, assuming Bucky was capable of doing the math in his head.

“Isn’t he swell?” Steve beamed, every inch the proud father.

Steven didn’t look particularly swell to Bucky. He looked small, and calculating. He was still watching Bucky, his dark eyes unnervingly like his mother’s.

“Fuck,” he chirped.

“Oh, lovely,” said Peggy dryly.

“Almost, buddy,” said Steve, in an encouraging tone. “That’s Bucky. Can you say Bucky?”

“Fucky,” said Steven, with earnest effort.

Bucky gave a loud bark of laughter. Steve, not wanting to encourage a bad habit, had to stifle a chuckle.

Steven, pleased to have gotten a reaction, gleefully repeated, “Fucky!”

“If you’ve quite finished with the vocabulary lesson,” said Peggy, leaning over to take Steven, “I think it’s time for someone’s nap.”


	6. shoes

“Steve, why has he only got one shoe?”

As Peggy lifted her son from the pram, she reflected that she knew better than to ask this question and expect a straightforward answer.

“I think he only had one on when we left.”

“I beg your pardon—”

“Granted,” interjected Steve, cheekily.

“I know you can’t possibly be insinuating that I sent my child out into the world half-dressed.”

A placid shrug. “When I took him out of the carriage at the park, he was minus a shoe.”

Peggy unlaced Steven’s remaining brown-and-white saddle shoe. Sand poured out onto the living room rug.

“I just let him play in the sand barefoot,” added Steve, redundantly.

“I thought you’d bring him home for lunch.”

“We just had a hot dog. He seemed to like it okay.”

Peggy was aghast. “A hot dog?”

“He’s a New Yorker now. He’s gotta start acting like it.”

Steven was rubbing at a red patch on his cheek—on closer inspection, it was on both cheeks, and his forehead as well. “He’s all sunburnt.”

“Yeah, I saw that. That’s why I brought him home.”

“What happened to his hat?”

Steve pulled a crumpled little cap out of his pocket. “He kept trying to throw it in the lake.”

“What was he doing near the lake?!” Peggy hated how shrill she sounded, but she couldn’t help herself.

“We went to feed the ducks.”

Peggy sat down, cradling her son protectively to her chest. “Children _drown_ in that lake.”

“Well, ours didn’t. Don’t look at me like that,” said Steve. “He’s fine. We had fun.”

Steven made a muffled exclamation against her shirt and squirmed until she turned him the other way.

“Hush, my darling,” Peggy cooed, stroking his hair. “It’s all right, you’re home now.”

The baby writhed in her arms and reached for his father. “Steeb,” he said plaintively.

Steve looked smug. “I guess he didn’t have too bad a time with his old dad, after all.”


	7. someone else's birthday

“Happy birthday to you…” Peggy crooned. Holding Steven on her lap, she made his little hands clap in time with the song.

“Thanks, buddy,” said Steve, chucking Steven under the chin.

Two-year-old Steven didn’t look particularly inclined to wish anyone a happy anything, especially when Peggy handed him over to Steve so that she could deal with the cake.

Steven watched, enraptured, as Peggy lit the candles one by one. They were the same ones she’d had for Steven’s birthday, which happened to be only three days before Steve’s. They’d had a sort of combined party, with their friends but including gifts and cake for Steven, but Peggy felt that Steve deserved something of his own on the actual day.

Steven squirmed and clawed in his father’s grip, his little hands grasping for the bright flames.

“Wish quickly,” advised Peggy, sitting beside him to transfer Steven back to her lap.

Obligingly, Steve blew out the candles.

Steven glared at Steve and began to wail.

“What’s the matter?” Peggy examined the boy’s fingers, making sure he hadn’t managed to burn himself on the candles after all.

Tears streaming down his face, Steven pointed at the cake accusingly. “Birfday!”

“Yes, darling, it’s daddy’s birthday.”

“ _My_ birfday!”

“It’s not your birthday.” Peggy didn’t believe in indulging this sort of nonsense. “It’s your father’s birthday.”

“Nooo,” wailed Steven, the sobs turning to hiccups. “Birfday cake!” His little face was an alarming shade of crimson, and a large bubble of snot had materialized on his upper lip.

“Calm down,” said Peggy, wiping his nose with a firm hand.

“It’s just a few candles,” Steve pointed out.

“It’s a lot of fuss over nothing. Don’t encourage it.”

Steve knew she was right. Giving in now would set a bad precedent: Steven would learn that he could get his own way, no matter how unreasonable the request, by screaming and crying.

Steve managed to hold out for a full thirty seconds before reaching for the matchbox.


	8. new arrivals

Steve knew next to nothing about marriage when he entered into it.

Oh, he had a few broad ideas, mostly from talking pictures and novels, but he knew enough about the girl he was marrying not to expect their union to be anything typical. And he’d never had a living, breathing example of a happy marriage to observe up close, so he wasn’t really sure how these things worked from the inside. However, he was confident that everything would sort itself out in the end—which it mostly did.

What Steve didn’t expect was that marriage, at least where he and Peggy were concerned, would be a lot like a never-ending game of tug-of-war.

Which wasn’t to say that they fought _all_ the time. But they could both be headstrong, and when they happened to be pulling in opposite directions… well.

So they quarrelled, and they debated, and they argued. Each had their own strengths and challenges; Peggy was particularly adept at the frosty silence, while Steve could definitely stand to learn the value of walking away to cool down.

In the end, they would either compromise or agree to disagree, always with the understanding that there was love and respect on both sides. 

One of the things Steve appreciated about Peggy was that she always fought fair. They both knew that she had the capacity to twist him around her little finger with even the faintest suggestion of tears, but never once in the three years they’d been together had she employed the salt-water offensive during an argument.

It was _because_ she cried so rarely that he found it so affecting when she did.

Which was why Steve was completely at a loss when he came home from the office one afternoon to find Peggy openly sobbing in the kitchen.

“Peg?”

“I dropped the mixing bowl,” she quavered, dabbing at her eyes with a tea towel. “The green one. It’s smashed to bits. I’m so sorry.”

“That’s okay. Really.” He felt a creeping sense of unease.

“It’s not! It was a wedding present. And I know how much you liked it,” she added, in what seemed to Steve to be an accusing tone. He couldn’t see what he might have done to deserve it.

(He considered risking a quick glance at the wall calendar, to see whether the entire situation might not be a function of the feminine tides—but he’d been caught out on that before, and he wasn’t in much of a hurry to repeat the experience.)

“I don’t mind at all,” Steve protested.

“Of course you don’t. You wouldn’t mind anything. If I told you to lie on the ground while I walked over you, you’d do it cheerfully!”

“If it would make you feel better,” he affirmed, with a boyish earnestness that was mostly feigned.

Her look turned sharp, dangerous. “Don’t make fun,” she warned.

“I wish you’d tell me what the problem is,” he said helplessly.

Peggy lifted her face to his. She was drawn and pale, her eyes red-rimmed. Steve felt a twist of anxiety in his stomach.

Sounding utterly defeated, she declared, “I’m expecting.”

Steve’s first, instinctive response was confusion, mingled with equal parts joy and terror. Between Steve going back to school, and Peggy taking on consulting work for the newly-formed SHIELD, they’d decided to wait until Steven was a little older before providing him with a brother or sister. But now the decision appeared to have been taken from their hands.

Before he’d had time to form a strategy, Steve blurted out the first word that popped into his head: “How?”

“Christ almighty, Steve!”

“I just meant—you’re always so careful…”

 _Careful_ was an understatement. Contraception was a bit of a mania with Peggy—which was understandable, given that their first child had been unplanned.

“Are you implying this is _my fault_?!” she growled.

“Nope,” he said quickly. Steve was fairly certain that it was in his best interests not to imply anything whatsoever right now.

“This is awful! It’s the worst possible timing!” Incongruously, she wailed, “I thought you’d be _happy_!” and burst into tears all over again.

Steve laughed. He couldn’t help it. The entire situation was so ridiculous. Then he did the only thing he could think of, and the one thing he knew he was reasonably good at: he hugged his wife.

“Course I’m happy,” he murmured, pressing a kiss into her hair. “You just caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

“I know I’m being unreasonable,” she sniffled, burying her face in his shirt. “I simply can’t help it.”

“It’s okay. Actually, it’s kind of a nice change. Usually I’m the dramatic one. If you ask me, you’re overdue. If I were you, I’d milk it for all it’s worth. Go on and break a few more dishes if you feel like it.”

She gave a watery chuckle. “How did you know I did it on purpose?”

“Lucky guess.”


End file.
